Page 9 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

Jonny turned his gaze back to Perry and considered him, head canted to one side. The poor boy was blushing furiously. His big, muscular frame was practically bursting out of his too-small chair, and he wore a slightly lost expression.

It was a potent combination—that physical might coupled with nervous uncertainty—exciting Jonny’s lusts and his tender heart simultaneously.

“Herakles,” he said faintly, only hearing the name himself once it had left his lips. When he noticed Perry’s confusion, he added, “The Romans called him Hercules—most people know that name better.”

Perry’s face cleared. “That’s the strong cove, isn’t it?” he said. “The one that wrestled a lion.”

“That’s him,” Jonny agreed, smiling. “That’s how I’d like to paint you.”

“Wrestling a lion?” Perry said, his expression alarmed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Jonny said slowly. He eyed Perry with undisguised admiration. “I was thinking of something a little more… posed.”

Perry swallowed, his gaze avid and nervous at once. “Posed?” he said faintly. “Posed how?”

“I have some ideas,” Jonny replied vaguely. He leaned back in his own chair, his glass dangling negligently from one hand. “We’ll… experiment. Tomorrow.”

“Oh, Perry!” Lysander laughed. “Beware! Beware!”

Perry turned to his friend, wide-eyed. “What? Why?”

“He’s a terrible taskmaster,” Lysander said, his expression amused. “When he was sketching me, he had me contorting into the most uncomfortable positions for hours on end. Don’t allow him to torture you.”

“Don’t worry, Peregrine, my dear,” Jonny said, waving Lysander’s comments aside with his wine glass. “I’ll beexceedinglygentle with you.”

Perry gulped.

3

Perry

It was Perry’s curse that he was always up with the larks.

It was a damned nuisance, since he didn’t usually have anything in particular to be up for. When he was in town, he mostly spent his time doing late-night things: drinking and gambling and generally carousing. But no matter what hour he stumbled home, he’d wake up soon after dawn broke and would always struggle to get back to sleep.

When he’d arrived at Edgeley Park, it was to discover that Lysander kept country hours, rising early, like himself, and going to bed before midnight. This actually suited Perry’s habits very well, and he’d become used to waking up in the mornings feeling well-rested, instead of bad-tempered and headachy from lack of sleep and too much brandy. Last night, though, with Adam just returned and his friend, Jonny, in tow, they’d all stayed up later than usual, drinking and laughing and telling stories. Well, the other three had been telling stories. Perry had been mostly listening, but he’d enjoyed the evening very well, and it had been almost two o’clock by the time he'd rolled into bed, pleasantly foxed.

Notwithstanding his late night, though, Perry woke like clockwork the next morning, at a little after half-past six.

He lay in bed for a while after he woke, at first trying uselessly to will himself back to sleep, before giving that up and deciding to indulge in a little morning pleasure instead. Taking his cock in hand, he began to idly stroke the shaft, allowing his mind to drift where it wanted.

Usually at this point, said mind would begin to circle around one of several familiar scenes he’d come up with over the years. But for some reason, this morning, even as he tried to summon up the picture of two grenadier guardsmen beckoning him, he could not seem to fix the picture in his mind. It kept harking back to the events of the day before. Most especially, to that moment when he’d come upon the Honourable Jonathan Mainwaring, standing in the hallway, drenched in sunshine.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Jonny Mainwaring. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew what he made of him physically. Physically, the man was bloody perfect, with his slim frame and comely face—but as for the rest… He was a clever one, that much was plain, and he showed off his cleverness just as happily as he showed off those fancy waistcoats he seemed to like so much. He had one of those faces that you could actuallyseethinking, clever green eyes flashing with ideas, even when he was silent. Not that he was ever silent for long. He talked constantly, even making witty little remarks when other people were talking—remarks that made Perry laugh when he understood them and feel like a perfect idiot when he didn’t.

He was a silver-tongued devil.

And God, but Perry couldn’t stop wondering what else he would do with that tongue.

He moaned, stroking his thick cock and picturing Jonny Mainwaring strolling towards him, those clever eyes sparkling with promise as he dropped to his knees and leaned forward to take Perry’s cock in his perfect mouth…

It was a ridiculous scene to fix upon—why in God’s name would a man like Jonny Mainwaring get on his knees for Perry Cavendish? A big lug who could barely get two sentences out without demonstrating his ignorance? But somehow he was able to put the unlikelihood of such a thing ever happening from his mind as he closed his eyes and let the scene unfold in his imagination… Perry’s fingers tangled in Jonny’s fox-red hair, tugging his head back. Jonny looked up at him, his expression all dazed outrage, and then Perry was tugging Jonny to his feet with a confidence he would never possess in real life and manhandling him to a convenient sofa that had miraculously appeared. Bending the slim, willing body over the back of it, Perry yanked down Jonny’s breeches and drawers—which had already been magically loosened—and palmed the man’s delicious arse.

Jonny was pleading now, a garbled rush of words that Perry perfectly understood: the man needed his cock. He needed to be fucked.

Perry’s imagination did not trouble itself over the detailed mechanics of what came next but moved straight to Perry watching his cock sink into Jonny’s arse. He tunnelled his eager shaft in and out of his own loose fist while the Jonny of his imagination panted and pleaded, writhing on Perry’s cock and begging to be fucked harder. That clever mouth was chanting Perry’s name as Perry began to come, his spend erupting from his tip in an ecstatic rush.

Slowly, Perry opened his eyes. For a few delicious moments, he was pleasurably befuddled, but then the sensual fog dispersed, and he realised he was alone, his hand and belly sticky with his cooling spend.